But then I was woken by the sudden stop of the van, I was pushed out and saw the prison;”Maximum security prison” said the sign in bold, black letters. The sign didn’t lie, as soon as I walked in three guards approached me and they pushed me through a metal detector and an X-ray machine, “He’s clean” grunted the guard. I was handed some orange overalls and had my name taken down, a photo taken and my fingers were stamped in ink. “Take off all your clothes”, was the next order, great now they humiliate me! (Boy, that was embarrassing). After that I was led away to my cell, the last bed I will sleep in. Looking at that hard, grey bed made me think of the soft bed I had at home where I would sleep with my wife. I looked around and saw lots of other men all wearing the same orange overalls and looking as depressed as me, some of them looked as pale as a sheet. I arrived at my cell and was pushed in. There was another man in there. I said, “Hi” but he kept staring at the wall. He was a pale, skinny man with a small black beard. His eyes were almost completely grey apart from a few red veins barely visible. His hands were as skinny as tree branches. I waved my hand in front of his face to get his attention, but his arm snapped up and grabbed mine. His hand was so cold it was like sticking my hand into a freezer. “Don’t. Do. That.” He whispered in a raspy voice, “You sleep on the bottom bunk.”
He let go slowly but or eyes kept locked onto one another’s. The guard locked my cell and walked away.
20th July Wednesday
The bed is like a slab of concrete. I was awaken by a bell and shouts of, “Breakfast!” from the guards. That was probably the worst night of my life. I dreamt that I was sitting in a chair and I was wired and strapped to it. I saw my cell mate laugh a cold laugh that echoed through my head, the he turned into a skeleton, pulled a lever on the wall and I was electrocuted and the man turned to dust. I woke up in a sweat. The guard approached my cell accompanied by an armed guard and shouted “Up! Breakfast-not that you’ll be needing it!”My cell mate got up and screeched:
“I heard that!”
The guards laughed and pushed us into a long line of other people and we marched towards the canteen. When we entered the canteen I saw three long benches with at least five guards to every table walking up and down patrolling them. I felt something poke in the back and I turned around to see a guard “Get a move on!” he reminded me of my P.E. teacher years back at school. We continued to walk. The only sound was a slow march and the clanging of handcuffs and chains as we walked into the kitchen, we were served some very lumpy porridge and a glass of disgusting, watery orange juice. When I sat down I looked round to see a sea of orange clothed people eating almost in rhythm. This cafetiria did not have the buzz of chat a school cafeteria did, but had more of the ghostly silence of a graveyard. As I looked round, It suddenly hit me that everyone in here was going to be executed in probably less time than me. My sentence started going through my head again: “First degree murder.”, “Death.”
These words danced around my head all day.
When I got back to my cell I looked around, which didn’t take very long: one bunk bed and a frosted, bared up window made up my final home. I was woken by an officer with a trolley of books and paper: “Do you want something to read.” I thought about this
“O.k.” I replied and took the flat-nibed marker and some paper and started to write this diary and then fell asleep.
21st July Thursday
I woke with the same dream but this time as I got out of bed that weird cellmate of mine wasn’t there. I asked a guard where he was. He told me he was executed early this morning. I’ve never known someone who has died a few days later. I suppose I should feel sorry for him but I cant really, I barely knew him. I asked the guard why the man was executed, he told me he was a drug baron, but I didn’t believe him. I could tell because what I did was far worse and I just got in here. It suddenly struck me that I was going to be a dead man in a few days so I went back to sleep with more bad thoughts eating away at my mind.
I was woken a few hors later by the clang of the slamming cell door. I opened my eyes and nearly jumped out of my skin. “You’ve got a new friend”, said the guard as he shut the door. This new ‘friend’ of mine was an almost complete opposite to my old cellmate in physical appearance. He was at least two feet taller than I was (and I’m pretty tall myself.) with tattoo covered arms with skulls, snakes and other symbols of death. He had a small head that sat on a neck as thick as a tree trunk with ropes as long and as wide as ropes all twisted around his body. His face, “Oh my God his face”, I thought when I saw it, it was covered in scars and his eyes set deep in the back of his head, were completely blood red apart from two pupils that looked like bottomless pits. I cowered in the corner of my bed but realizing what I was doing stood up and tried to look mean. I had to because, by the looks of this guy, he could smell fear from the next island. A horrible thought came to mind, “This guy’ll kill me before the police will.” He leaned to my height, looked at me and said in a low, deep, growl, “What you ‘ere for?”
I stammered “I, I, I” but I didn’t get a chance to answer because he grunted a laugh and said:
“You ever seen a man’s insides?” His eyes were wide with an evil joy as though he was proud of this. I sat on my bed but he pulled me off suddenly. I thought, “I’m going to die, Oh God.”
Then he said, “I get the bottom bunk and threw me against the wall. A guard came to our cell to see what was what happening then walked off. I quietly crept to my new bed and went to sleep “So this is my last bed now”, I thought and dozed off.
22nd of July Friday
I was woken by a slap to the face. As I opened my eyes, I saw my new cell mate and was disappointed that him coming was not a crazy dream. “Yes?” I asked rubbing my swollen cheek. He looked at me with an insane smile and replied, “My name is Bill Murphy.”
“O.k.” I said slowly wishing he wasn’t there. A guard approached our cell, rattled his gun between the bars and said mockingly; “Nice to see you two getting acquainted, now breakfast, UP!” The guard unlocked the cell and Bill stamped out. The guard looked nervously at him but he knew what lay between his head getting pounded by Bill was the gun gripped in his hands. After an identical breakfast to the last few days, I got back to my cell. The guy with the books and paper came round and said, “Hey, You’re in the papers” and threw a copy of ‘The Sun’ at me. I could finally do something in peace ‘cause big Bill had gone weight lifting (Not that he needed it, he has to wear three sets of chains!) I looked through the front page and saw a picture of me taken as I left the court building, wrapped in chains, I looked like a disgrace. I ripped out a few bits and pieces of articles on my case and stuck them in here with some water:
Man Is Sent To Death Row
John Johnson, 39 was today found guilty for the forty-five murders he commited when he derailed a train nearly a month ago. He was sent to the infamous prison: “Death Row High Security prison” (nicknamed the ‘Shocker’) and is given five days to live. We intervied his neighbor, who would like to remain anonymous:
I’ve always hated that guy…
“Yeah Johnson, he was a quite man but very suspicious, he kept meeting strange guys outside his house, I always knew there was something about him but I never knew he would be capable of such atrocities.” John Johnson stated he did this act of terrorism because he was paid to do it. The police are currently trying to track down the person who hired him, but with some difficulties as Mr. Johnson is refusing to cooperate.
Why should I help them, why they just sent me here straight away to where Bill Murphy and his buddies thrive. The guy that hired me is probably long gone by now on some island…
The officer sits up in his chair eager to see if John writes the location of the man and realizes his window of opportunity to track him down.
But I’m not sure where he is, he didn’t even tell me his name, I just met his ‘contacts’ who were equally as mysterious. Unlike any of the other jobs I have done.
The officer leans back in his chair annoyed that John didn’t write the whereabouts of the man but reads on anyway.
23rd July Saturday- My Final Day
This will be my last entry.
In bed I was tossing and turning, my life flashing before my eyes; birthdays, getting married. But unfortunately I had no children. Facing Bill Murphy in a fight was a small fly compared to what I had to face at 1 o’clock today. Breakfast was tasteless. In my desperation I started thinking of ways to escape this place. But then I realized that there was absolutely no way of getting out of here, I mean it’s the most high security prison in the world. There are cameras all over the prison constantly locked onto you like eyes from a curious child. I spent most of the day looking at the big clock and the end of the hall, the hands moving slowly each tick, tock was another second closer to my death. Bill Murphy isn’t the kind of guy you’d like to spend your last hours with. He made punching me a small habit as I was staring at the clock, but he soon got bored and I started to get annoyed at him. My head became a bowl of bad thoughts and memories like when my father was murdered when I was just a little boy. My sentence kept on repeating itself in my head and images of my smiling wife faded away. It is now the ten to one, I’ll leave it under my bed, maybe someone will read it or throw it away. Either way, it has been my best friend over these past few days.
The officer puts the sheets of paper down and remembers how he approached the cell with two guards, told the man, “Times up.” He remembers the agony in the face of the man but he officer doesn’t care, he does this at least ten times a week. He remembers the face of the wife behind the glass, as the man is strapped to the chair. But he does not feel pity for her. As the lever is pulled down and the man breathes his final breath and shakes violently from the volts frying the criminals insides he does not care because the man is still a criminal and the officer feels he deserves it. The officer walks over to the bin and drops the sheets of paper in it, hesitates and walks back to his desk.
